Ties That Bind
by The Mad Techie
Summary: Scott Summers finds a brother where he least expects it. ["Cajun Cinnamon" is a continuation of this.]
1. Brother

BROTHER 

I was a fool. I thought I knew it all, thought I understood. I was wrong. I had heard the howl, the roar of loss, the throat-cut scream of pain that transcended agony, when he had heard of her being infected with HIV. The people in the room were silent, faces showing nothing. Showing more respect for a man - _man! _- they'd known only months than I'd shown him in many of the years I'd known him.   
When Apocalypse had been inside me - it makes me sick sometimes to think on it, but there it is - he had crept in when everyone was asleep and called the mutant out. I don't know why, but afterwards, I know this - I lost the boyhood I'd been living. Apocalypse was gone, and I was a free man. And I didn't lose my soul in the process.

_We all have to face the awful truth one day, kid - that we ain't nothin' more than what we are, just happened to get born. No-one gets born a hero, an' no-one gets born a monster. They make 'emselves along the way.   
_   
The day he'd told me that I'd wanted to hit him. We'd been practicing, sparring, and he'd kept dodging me, knocking aside my blows as though they came from a child. He'd shown no effort, and when we were done, I knew Jean had been watching. I was _furious_. He'd just grinned that know-it-all smirk and told me to climb down off the high-horse before I chafed myself out of future kids. And he'd walked away, back to me, knowing nothing I did could really hurt him.   
I'd hated him for that.   
When the Phoenix took Jean, I woke every night for months screaming her name, crying out for her, and Logan was always there. I'd cry on his shoulder like a child, and he never said anything about it. Not to anyone. In the end, he became one of my dearest friends, a voice of cynical caution to my - what? - optimistic approach.   
He told me he'd follow me into Hell. Even though he'd already been there.   
I didn't tell him that without his voice to council me, to tell me when I was a fool, to outrage my sense of hope and raise the sense of justice in my heart, sometimes I couldn't go on. Even Jean doesn't know that.   
Don't get me wrong. I love my wife in a way that goes beyond words - clichéd but true. She's the other part of me, the part of my soul that is fire and passion.   
And I have dear friends, friends I would die for in a moment. Without question, without a second thought.   
But Logan is the closest thing I have to - loving another man. It sounds strange, even when I think it. I've never touched him, and he's never touched me. But he's taught me almost as much as the Professor. About how to endure and stay sane, about self-honor and honor itself.   
The silence is awful. I close my eyes a moment, and Jean touches my arm, eyes full of love for both of us.   
I'm not jealous. I'm not _afraid_ anymore - of being left, of being alone, because I know that, all his gruffness and snarls aside, he's been trying to be a brother to me, as much a brother as Alex is, in some ways even moreso.   
The X-Men arrive, many from other parts of the world, to stand with us in a kind of bewildered misery, praying for a miracle. I finger the ring - a simple gold band that means _everything _to me, and I get slowly to my feet.   
I know one thing I can do.   
I whisper an "I love you" to Jean, and walk slowly down the hospital hall, feeling my hands trembling.   
I lean on the door and it swings open, revealing the misery that is Logan, chair against the bed, eyes never leaving the pathetic little figure on the bed.   
His gaze swung to me, our eyes locked, and I drug a chair over next to him.   
He snarled, he threatened, he growled, he even popped his claws, but I did what I had never done and what he needed now. I wrapped my arms around him, let him struggle, fall against me, and finally sob.   
On the bed, Logan's tiny daughter still struggled for life, but I would hold Logan here for her.   
From now on, he will be my brother.   
And I will tell him I love him.   
Tommarrow.


	2. Family

FAMILY 

It was three days an emotional roller-coaster before Mint's temperature began to go down. The seven-year-old's meningitis had run it's course, and despite not yet regaining consciousness, she seemed to be breathing easier.   
Logan had still not moved, for all my coaxing. His gaze was on his daughter's face, as though willing her to open her eyes and be well, for this whole thing to be a nightmare, something he could face with claws and combat skills.   
"Mr...Logan?" A tall, well-dressed man had come in the door, expensive eyewear perched on the bridge of his nose.   
I felt a chill. It couldn't be. I knew this man - unfortunately.   
Logan didn't react at all, except to lightly squeeze his daughter's hand.   
"I'm from Child Protective Services. I'm here to inform you that Mint Forrester has been legally placed in the custody of......   
glllrrrk!" Now dangling two inches from the floor, he faced not Logan, but Wolverine.   
"Logan! Logan, _no!_" I was yelling, my grip all that kept Stephen Grames (the third) from being choked to death by my brother's iron grip.   
Jean arrived - she was probably in the waiting room across the hall - and together we managed to peel Logan's fingers off Grames, though a little part of me wished that I had been an instant later.   
"D-dad-dy?" the voice was barely above a whisper, but Logan tossed Grames aside and was beside the bed before Jean and I could do more than dust the man off.   
"I'm here."   
Jean's eyes closed, tears on her lashes, and I held her while our unwanted visitor sputtered. How could they bear to lose Mint? HIV? She's a _baby_!   
Mint's hand wrapped around her father's clinging to him, as her emerald green eyes tipped up to stare into his. She smiled, then said clearly, "I love you."   
Logan wrapped his arms around her, gently lifted her to his lap.   
"Love you too, moppet."

There was nearly a riot when I told the other X-Men - X-Teams? So many, now - and even Kurt was outraged that CPS would try to take Mint away from Logan.   
"They need each other_, mien frieunds_." the Catholic priest and member of X-Caliber said, after a brief moment of silent.   
"So say we all." Jean murmured, catching my hand in hers.   
The love that flowed through our bond was a pure thing, each sharing and growing from the strength of the other, yet I could never forget the orphanage. Or Grames.

I was nine when I was taken in as a "foster child", and I don't think anyone knows what that's like. Automatically, you're labeled a problem child, violent, illiterate, and doomed to failure. People don't want their kids anywhere around you, and most of the time - me included - you live in a house with four or five other kids and two parents who could care less. They're burnt out trying to help kids who are too burnt out themselves trying to get a chance.   
It was there I discovered there was no way to survive.   
Bounced from place to place, I had to find Alex.   
So I left.   
A week later I was picked up and sent to Grames office, where he looked me up and down, then nodded. His lackey - this huge kid who was about as bright as a burned out candle - closed the door.   
Then held me down and beat me black and blue.   
Grames nodded again, smiled in a businesslike way, and sent me out the door.   
It was then I discovered nowhere was safe in that damn place. Everything I did was reported, cataloged, and Grames would send his favorites to drag me to his office and work me over if I did anything he didn't like.   
This all came to a horrible head about three months later. Grames' favorite - I had learned his name was Vinnie - came and got me, and when I got to the office, I knew there was more than a mere beating waiting.   
Grames - sold me that night. And every day I had to come back, smile, act as though everything was normal.   
I was 11. Scared, helpless, and desperate. I can look back and see myself as I was, eyes pleading for help - eyes before I gained optic blasts that could punch a hole through a mountain. Eyes that still haunt me because no matter how I tried, I know there are still kids Grames keeps, that eventually their eyes show the same desperate expression. Kids that will never, ever have a chance.   
"Uncle Scott?" Mint, dressed in a hospital gown, staring up at me. Logan sitting in a chair, dozing - even his healing factor had limits, and he had been almost a week without sleep. I was back, and as always I felt a brief surge of relief.   
"Yes, Sweetheart?" I reached down and scooped her up, holding her in my lap.   
"Will that man take me away?" Her lips trembled and eyes filled with tears, and suddenly I wasn't frightened or guilty. I was _enraged_. How dare _- dare_! - Grames come back into my life, disturb my_ brother_, and make my niece miserable?   
"No, Sweetie. No-one will take you away." I smoothed her hair, wrapped her in a blanket, and gently deposited her in Logan's arms, watching him shift slightly to let the child snuggle down.   
The truth hit me hard.   
I'm not fighting for the Professor's dream. All this slaughter, this hate, it would have killed me.   
Logan let me in, and now I _understood._   
It was a war. I didn't have to become a monster. And more - I wanted every child to have parents to hold them that I didn't have. I want to know that their tears are comforted, their every effort encouraged - isn't that a war worth fighting?   
Yes.   
God help me, Yes.   
I pressed a hand against Logan's shoulder, understanding his own war, and swearing to keep him within the family.   
He is my brother.   
_Jean._ my mental "voice" was soft, even tentative.   
She came over, and we sat on either side of Logan, pressed against his exhausted body, supporting him - whether he liked it or not. _Scott? What...._   
I took a deep breath. I was ready.   
I was ready to tell all, to be a brother, father, and uncle.   
_I need to tell you everything, my love. About my past and present. About loneliness and lies, but more importantly about brothers, love, and the future.   
_


	3. Light

LIGHT 

I was tired, as I scrubbed my face and smiled weakly. But I knew in my heart some things couldn't wait. This was one.   
Jean telekenetically lifted Logan and Mint, careful not to distirb the sleeping pair, and gently deposited them on the hospital bed. Unconciously, the little girl snuggled closer to her father, and the young woman tucked a blanket around them both, smiling tenderly.   
I knew from the expression on her face the others gathered, many huddled against one another in sleep, knew Mint was out of danger and the hospital room was off limits.   
We had to go out onto the stairs in the end, careful not to wake Jubilee, who was asleep against Remy.   
_I need to...share the past with you Jean...._   
Her eyes, full of love and light, held my gaze. She held me, gathered me against her, and I closed my eyes.   
_I'm here, Scott. I'll always be here..._   
And I was again not Scott Summers, Cyclops, Leader of the X-Men, but pathetic little Scotty Summers, Grames' "pet", a child lost in a world ruled by the monster under the bed, the boogeyman - and worse. Far, far worse...   
I let her into my mind, into my past, and she caught me, kept me from being swept away by eddies of fear and lonliness that had swamped the child-Scott all his life...

There was only me and ten other boys in E-Wing, largely because it was so new. Me, a skinny kid named Anthony, and a smaller, mean-spirited kid that insisted on being called Line were the oldest.   
It all started there. Men came, picked a boy, and could do whatever they wanted. I would try to kick, to struggle, but often that just made it worse. They'd make me listen as the younger ones screamed. Sometimes they never came back.   
Anthony was kind to me, and in our futile way we formed a friendship, an alliance. The other kids hated us, and Grames seemed to enjoy that. One day, he came in and took Anthony - the creep he gave him to was a mutant-hater.   
It took Tony almost two days to die.   
I wished it'd been me, I wished I could go crazy, find some - madness - to hide myself in.   
I couldn't.   
So I stared at Grames and swore to make sure he'd pay.   
And he smiled at me.

_I can't remember the rest_. I was crying, shaking like a child_. Whenever I try, I wake up - I just remember the Professor finding me. I don't remember anything else! Help me, Jeannie_! I cried it in desperation, because after so many years I couldn't let it go. I _had_ toknow.   
Her arms held me, her chin resting lightly against my head as she rocked me. I felt comforted, but still afraid, so terribly afraid. _I'm here....you're safe with me, no one can reach you..._   
_Logan...! _I physically jerked. Where had _that _come from?   
Jean stroked my hair, smiled at me, knowing the bond of brotherhood I had found, and obviously approving. There was some puzzlement in her steady gaze, but she held me gently. _I can help you, Scott. I can help you open that block. But you have to let me. I won't force you, ever._   
_Help me! _it was a gasp of pain.   
The darkness shattered into shards of edged black, tearing through my mind, letting loose my hidden memories.   
I screamed silently, but plunged, a phoenix borne on broken wings, into the past.

I was screaming, struggling, crying, even begging, as the man dragged me toward his car. The other kids, three were dead, but the others were alive. Grames was calmly standing against the wall, neatly wrapped in a raincoat as the storm vented it's fury on the warm night, taking notes of "adoptions" taking place.   
Lives being shattered, hearts being torn so badly they would never open up again...   
"Evenin'." it was a low growl, coming from a figure perched on top of the car. Only the eyes showed, burning blue, cold as a winter fire. One of the men pulled a gun - and stared dumbly as blood spurted from the stump that had once been his arm.   
"Help us!" I screamed.   
The man had claws! He bounded over the cars, sniffed the air, and suddenly pushed me to the ground as another one of Grames' customer's opened fire. Bullets thumped into him, but he picked me up and started running, and I saw other men, shadows really, scooping up the others without breaking stride.   
Holding me in one arm, the man clambered up the wall, meeting a shadow on top.   
I didn't understand the words, but I understood they were arguing.   
_Remember, Scott, don't be afraid..._   
It was Japanese.   
"This little one is the one you sought, _sensei_?" the voice was carefully respectful.   
"_Hei."_ No other explanation, as he set me on my feet, wrapping a warm, dark jacket around me. It had a symbol, but I couldn't see it for my angle.   
Then I remembered no more.

I moaned, but soon Jean helped me back into the months I'd lost as a boy, the three years gone in my life.

My rescuer never gave me a name, but when his companions could locate no relatives, he took me in. I loved him for that. He showed me the basics of defending myself, telling me, "When you fight a man, treat him as an honored guest. Welcome him in. Learn everything about him. In this way, you learn to defend yourself and others."   
"But what about killing him?" I was bitter then, so angry. I saw the others practice killing moves, but my teacher taught me none of them. None of the ones that would let me hurt the ones that had hurt me.   
"If you want to hurt someone, you have the wrong reason." he told me, and made me find all the woodchips from a target practice from the other, older kids.   
It took me months, but finally I worked up the guts to ask him something I was hoping for.   
_"Sensei_, are you my father?"   
His back was to me, he did not turn for a moment, but finally knelt, placing a hand on my shoulder.   
"It's time for you to go back to the Hard World, kid. This isn't the world for you."   
My eyes filled with tears, I can remember the desperate hurt, the anguish.   
"I HATE YOU!" I screamed. I flailed at him, tried every manuver, but nothing eased my heart. Until he wrapped his arms around me and held me until I was exausted, too tired to even move. Finally, he stared me in the eyes. Hypnotic and wild, like the unmarred summer sky.   
"Lissen to me, kid. Ya can't stay with me." His voice became soft, using the magic of his own training, the shadow-people who had protected me and loved me for a scant few years. "But when ya need me, I'll be there....like a brother. I promise ya that."   
I was barely awake, but I feigned sleep as he lifted me - all the while I wanted, for the first time - to throw my arms around his neck and hang on - carried me to another place and left me.   
His voice became wierd after I heard an electric sputter, and he was speaking to someone.   
"I'll bring the kid." Muffled words, a kind, concerned voice. "You don't need ta know. I know he's got two sibs."   
I fought to keep the tears down, but my stomach dropped_. Two? Alex and - who?_   
I felt his hand ruffle my hair, once, then returned to speaking. He knew I was listening.   
Conciousness was fading. No! Not yet!   
"Three, countin' me. Take care a' him, or you'll be answerin' to me." A click.   
Silence.

I woke with a gasp. I was convered in sweat, but Jean was there, holding me tight.   
And Logan, crouched down to regard me with an unreadable gaze.   
Without warning, I reached up, and pulled them both to me, and the tears came. Tears of release, of hope, of finding one's way home. In that instant, I had found myself.   
"_Okaerinasai, _Logan-_sama_. _Okaerinasai, Jikei._" Welcome home, Logan. Welcome home, older brother.   
Logan's feral expression softened brieftly to a smile, while Jean smiled, eyes filled with tears.   
I would never let them go again. And, despite his gruffness, Logan slid down to provide a backrest for me while Jean wept, a smile of pure joy on her face, and held us both tight.   
Both of them held tight in my arms, didn't see the shadowed stairwell or the dingy walls.   
I saw what we were, together, all of us.   
I saw the most perfect, beautiful Light.


End file.
